house of cards
by Irradiance
Summary: It's not perfect but they make it work. Somehow. "Normal" is a relative term anyway.


Disclaimer: _Assassination Classroom_ doesn't belong to me.

* * *

Perfection is a way of life.

It is a culmination of effort and preparation. Routines and schedules are part of the process of perfection; strict, succinct, and orderly, keeping a person from going astray. Perfection isn't simply a result.

Perfection is his normal.

Asano Gakushuu wakes up every morning striving for a perfect day.

He wakes up at six-thirty sharp, neither one second too early nor one second too late and makes sure to fold his blanket in an orderly manner before heading to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth in a timed rhythm, another part of his perfect routine. His uniform is ironed and void of wrinkles, and his tie is looped into its knot in a swift and skillful manner before being tucked neatly beneath his buttoned blazer.

Gakushuu walks down the staircase steadily, each step the weight and import of a king.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," his mother replies cheerily from behind the counter.

"Good morning, Asano-kun."

The boy flashes dear old dad a smile, a cutting undercurrent of hostility beneath it as he seats himself across from Gakuhou at the dinner table, making sure not to scrape the chair across the floor as he pulls it out. The man known as his father takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes crinkling into a hidden smile behind it.

The younger Asano grabs his eating utensils, holding them with the grace and manners he was raised with, and continues his morning routine.

 _I'll make him crack._

"I believe I've collected all the necessary evidence to file a lawsuit against you," he states, grabbing a piece of his grilled mackerel. This was supposed to be done earlier — _much_ earlier — but if this trial is to happen, it must be perfectly in his favour, and that means flawless preparation into the matter. Of course, there are other reasons for the delay as well...

His father steeples his fingers and leans forward in his chair. The grin never leaves his face. "Oh? Is that so?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten that time you slapped me halfway across the classroom," Gakushuu continues confidently, "that's assault. I have a doctor's note and everything. Pictures of the swelling, the works. Also, the emotional trauma caused by the incident."

"Well, I suppose we can finally file our complaints together at the end of the week then," his father claps his hands together in celebration. Only in the Asano household would father and son be so enthralled with the idea of suing one another as a means of simultaneous mental warfare and bonding.

"No can do. We can file them the week after next."

"And here I thought you'd be chomping at the bit to sue me."

"Are you two _still_ going on about that?" The other reason for the delay in complaint-filing shoots them both an exasperated look, the knife in her hand held in such a way that the glare of the sunlight glints dangerously at its tip. Unintentionally threatening. " _No one_ is suing _anyone_ in this house."

This isn't the first rodeo for Gakushuu's mother and it certainly isn't going to be her last. She expels a tired sigh, having long since given up trying to understand their warped senses of humour _and_ hostile methods of father-son bonding, only mitigating its extremity. But such days are their normal, and she's since learned to suspend her disbelief to a certain degree. _Just some friendly father-son competition, dear,_ his father half-whispers with a laugh to assuage his wife.

"Don't get me wrong, Dad. I'm looking forward to it," Gakushuu quickly corrects. His mother slides a hand down her face and mutters _I give up_. "But let's wait until after midterms."

"Ah, yes, exams," Gakuhou claps his hands together again like a business executive, his grin infuriatingly static. "Looking to reclaim your throne at the top of the standings? Or is losing to Akabane-kun in the cards for you again?"

Gakushuu stabs a fork into his egg as it screeches across the plate, the golden yolk bleeding out onto the white. His mother frowns. His father doesn't bat an eye.

"I'll have you know," the son straightens his posture again, making eye contact with his father, "I'm going to win."

A pause. His father offers a light chuckle. The usual. It's a common routine of theirs.

"Well then, I'm looking forward to hearing about the results." He rises from his seat and pushes his chair in, the action annoyingly and perfectly silent, and then ambles towards the doorway with long, velvet strides before stopping at the frame of the door. "Win or lose."

And then he's gone, leaving Gakushuu to swallow his snappy remarks and smug retorts at the dinner table. This part of the routine he can do without.

His mother breaks the unsettling silence of his flaring temper. "Gakkun, don't forget your lunch," she says, placing his _bento_ on the table.

"Mom, I told you to stop calling me that. I'm in high school already."

His father calls out from the doorway, "Try not to be late for school, _Gakkun_."

"GET TO WORK ALREADY, DAD."

* * *

 **A/N:** Sometimes I really do wonder how Gakuhou's wife deals with these two. Also, Asano is perfect for the role of Only Sane Man in a comedy and I wish there were more general/non-shippy stories where he's portrayed in such a capacity so as to fulfill his character's true potential as The Comically Serious _but I digress_.


End file.
